Price of Power: Tragedy of Sylvain
by Desarasu
Summary: A royal priestess, selected to inheret the throne witnesses the death of her father by the hands of her brother. Blamed for the murder, Sylvain will stop at nothing to clear her name and avenge her father... But at what cost? M for future mature themes


"Let us pray." The voice of a priestess echoed through the halls of the Prontera church as a class of acolytes bowed their heads. A soothing silence fell about the room before the priestess's voice resounded once more. "We give thanks to You, our God Poing, for blessing us with life, shelter, love and our daily bread. We also give thanks for your protection and guidance in our daily lives. Bless'ed are we who stand at your right hand and fight to rid the world of corruption and the evils of the Dark Lord and of Baphomet.  
"May your loving hands care for us in our times of need, and may you give us strength in the presence of evils that we may drive them from this land. In Poing's name; amen." The silence returned and the pupils raised their eyes toward the silver-haired beauty that was their teacher and highest-ranking priestess. The woman was a devout priestess of indescribable beauty. Wherever she went, men and women alike would stop to watch her as she passed by, her beauty was so unparalelled and irresistable.  
"Today's lesson is over, class; you are dismissed." With those words, the tan-robed acolytes rose and began their journies home. Save for one little girl who came skipping up to her teacher.  
"Miss Sylvain! Miss Sylvain!" The young girl called for her teacher's attention as she ran up to her. "That was a great lesson, Miss Sylvain. You're really the best teacher in the entire world!" The pigtailed acolyte giggled as Sylvain replied modestly, "I just do as God Poing asks of me- to spread His word and teach others about Him. You should run home now, Christi. Your parents may be worried." With that, the priestess took her pupils hand and walkeed her to the door. Christie ran off, pigtails bouncing behind her as she went.  
After assuring her students had all left the building, Sylvain picked up her bible and folder of lessons from the altar and made her way outside, bidding farewell to the resident priests and priestesses. Her eyes found their way to the heavens and she noted that the sun was on it's descent into the southwest. 'It's about 4:30.. I better get back home before supper or father will worry..' The woman blinked a few times and her grey hues returned to the street in front of her. Her usual faint smile graced her lips and she began the twenty-minute walk home to the palace.  
Prontera, the capital of Rune-Migard was a beautiful, clean, organized city. The semi-uniform buildings and streets were constructed of smooth white stone, and the shingles atop the roofs were of red earthen clay. Each house was built with the same materials and have been for hundreds of years now. Along the sidewalks, vendors of all races and trades would line up, calling out to the passing peoples their various rareities and bargains. The priestess graced the merchants with a smile as was usual for her until she reached the corner, where a young blacksmith on the ground sat between the handles of his cart, setting off a firecracker here and there and watching as the thing shot up about five feet in the air screaming, then exploded with an audiable -pop- like a miniature firework. His half-amused expression stared into space where the firecracker popped, obviously the Amatsuan man was bored out of his mind, if he was setting off his wares for his idle amusement. Sylvain stepped lightly to him, arms wrapped around her bible and papers.  
"Mister Lang! What is this I see- no customers today?" The man Sylvain addressed turned his tanned body around so he was now looking up to her from opposite his cart. He smiled and a noticable blush found its way to his cheeks. He was the only foreigner who had come to Prontera as of late to sell goods from his homeland and had made friends with the priestess who would pass him on the corner each day on her way home. Being from Amatsu, he bore a dark tan which contrasted his unusual short white hair. The corners of the eyes of the Amatsuan people usually would be pulled back naturally, narrrowing their eyes and giving them a more sophisticated look. Mister Lane's, however, were wider than was the 'norm' for his people and, as most of his features, his eyes were an unusual, luminous red-amber color. He had a fit, lean figure- muscles rippled about his body under the white sleeveless top that was his usual attire, blue jeans covering the toned legs he kneeled on. "Sylvain! Imagine doing the meeting of you here!" Laughing heartily at his own sarcasim, the smith greeted the woman with a heavily accented voice and slightly butchered english. Then he grinned, which pulled a blush from the priestess. "What can I be doing for you, m'lady?"  
"First, dear Evan, you can explain to me why people aren't lined up before you, selling out your stock." The comment made by her made a few heads turn. Evan loved how business always picked up after Sylvain stopped by, but that wasn't the only reason he loved her company. Be it her unending joy or incomprehensible beauty, something about her took his breath away.  
"I am the having of no business today. No people are the wanting of my firecrackers.. They say for there is no reason to be of celebrating. But I try to sell them and still there are no men who are the buying of my selling them." Evan groaned in resignation.  
A sigh escaped her lips and she pulled a small purse of Zeny from her sleeve. She procured 300 Zeny and handed it to him. Then Sylvain kneeled before Evan and handed him the money, her grey eyes locking onto his.  
"I'll take three, love." More heads turned and a young child, not a day over the age of four, walked up to the cart and pulled out a purple-and-white-striped firecracker. The boy handed Evan 100 Zeny and walked back to his mother, begging her to let him pull the string and set it off. Back at the cart, the two friends began laughing. Sylvain pulled out her three firecrackers and set one off, watching the explosion with an expression of wonder. Her smith-friend stood up and bowed.  
"Miss Sylvain, you should be the returning to home. Your fath- ah.. His majesty will be the worry of your lateness today." Evan gave her a kind smile and in return recieved a kiss on the forehead. As his face turned a deep crimson red and people began lining up at his cart, he watched Sylvain as she waved goodbye to him. As the blacksmith watched her, he was oblivious to the customers about him for a good minute before returning to his senses. "Ah!! Welcome, welcome! For 100 Zeny I am the bringing of Amatsu to you! How many would..."  
Sylvains smile was brighter, knowing she did a good deed. She forced the lingering blush from her cheeks and picked up her pace. By now, it was 5:00 and dinner would be set in half an hour so she had to hurry. It was only ten minutes' worth of a slight jog and she knew she would make it. However, something seemed to be pushing her to get home as soon as possible. In the back of her mind, something didn't seem right and she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Sylvain arrived at home in just under ten minutes, panting slightly. Before she entered, she placed a hand on the enormous double-doors carved of the finest dark wood and lined with Louyang gold. The castle was built of the same stone and clay as the rest of Prontera. Positioned at the northernmost part of the city, travelers arriving from the south gates could see the castle, it was so magnificent. A tower was on each corner, with the flags of Prontera- among other allied cities such as Geffen, Al de Baran, Morroc, Alberta and Payon- hanging from them. A small moat encircled the building; it was lined on the bottom and sides with the red clay which served as shingles for the buildings of Prontera and was filled to the top with glistening, crystal-clear water. Unlike many of the older buildings in Prontera, the castle was well-kept and the ivy that dared grow up the castle walls was cut down on a weekly basis. Twice a year, the castle was scrubbed from bottom to top by the servants to wash away any dirt. Also, at this time the cracks in the stone were filled, windows were replaced and decorations were switched between holiday decor and flag decor. During wintertime, the decorations put up about the castle would have a red-and-green theme to them, symbolizing joy and love during the holidays. The king, being a fun-loving man as he was, would have the guards dress up in green santa suits and the maids were to dress in red santa suits with little angel wings on the back. Wreathes would be hung above each window and the city flags which decorated the building would be replaced with red-and-green "remakes" of them. Atop each tower would be built a diffferent snow sculpture- snowmen, angles, heroes, and even Valkyries on rare occasions. In the spring, the castle's decorations would be replaced with the flags of the allied cities and return to its formal state. The flags of the surrounding cities would hang from each window and replace the wreaths, torches would replace snowmen, and the guards and maids would change back into their normal uniforms.

As she stared up at the beautiful ever-changing flag of Geffen, Sylvain quickly caught her breath, pulled open one of the enormous wooden doors and stepped inside. The door closed behind her and the scent of stew reached her nose. After a few steps, she found herself in the middle of the huge circular foyer. Twin flights of stairs on either side of her led to the east and west wings, a white carpet led up the left side and a red carpet ran up the stairs to the right. They both met in the middle of the room- where Sylvain stood- on a circular red rug with the family crest in white in the center. She took off to the left, grabbin gher priestess dress and holding it up as she sprinted up the stairs. She made her way down the hall and up yet another flight of stairs to her left, then through a cherry door marked with her name in silver at the top. She entered and was greeted by her personal maid who carried a long white dress outlined with red. A beautifully detailed cross ran from the high collar all the way to the bottom of the dress, the horizontal piece of the crossed across the chest.  
"Sylvain! Darling, where have you been?" The short, stout maid jumped up from the stool she was seated on and hustled over to the priestess who had just entered the room.

"Sarah, I'm only a few mi-- Ahh!!" Without hesitation, Sarah dragged Sylvain behind a curtain and pulled off her lavender priestess garb, followed by a pair of thin white panty hose and modest brown loafers, and threw them in a pile on the floor. In under five minutes, Sylvain was stripped down, thrown in a tub of cool water, scrubbed, rinsed and dried. Less than a minute later, the short nurse had towel-dried and styled Sylvain's hair in a long braid and dressed her in the white dress.  
"Now hurry along, dear! Supper is to be served any second now and you wouldn't want to keep your father waiting!" With a final shove, Sarah pushed Sylvain out of the room and into the stairwell. The priestess ran down the stairs, jumping three at a time. She slid to a stop at the bottom of those stairs and took off down the hall. Then, she leaped off the top of the stairs, landing about halfway down, then hopped atop the railing to her left and fell off the side. She landed soundlessly from the 12-foot fall, and took off again. The white carpet beneath her changed to red as it neared the large archway that led into the enormous room that was the family dining room. The dining room was about 50 feet wide by 70, in an elliptical shape. Three expensive chandileers of glass hung from the ceiling, each burning with a magical, everlasting flame. She slowed to a walk and entered the room to a hearty greeting by her father, and the king of Prontera, Tristan III, and an unusual glare from her younger brother, Tristan IV. Sylvain just smiled, assuming her brother was having a bad day, and took her seat at the table, opposite her brother and to the left of her father. "Sylvain, my dear daughter!" Tristan III exclaimed happily, his rotund belly bouncing with each word he spoke.  
"...You're late, sister.." Sylvain's brother growled under his breath, obviously trying to keep his eyes averted from her for some strange reason. The king was quick to silence the boy for his rudeness. "Now, now. I'm sure Sylvain had some business to attend to before she came home. She's not too late, anyways." As Tristan III laughed nervously, he received a glare from his son. Usually, Tristan IV would welcome Sylvain home like their father- with a great smile and laughter. For just over a week now, he's been acting strange- as if the weight of the world fell on his shoulders. His usually-tanned skin had become noticably pale, black rings hung beneath his eyes and he hadn't had much of an appetite lately. Sylvain, among others, had begun to worry but each time he was spoken to or questioned, Tristan IV would ignore them and walk off in a huff. Once he became borderline violent, his family, friends and attendants began to avoid eye contact and conversations with him whenever possible.  
The king spoke again, "Either way, she's here now so.. Let us eat!" He then clapped twice and dinner was brought out to them. A line of five waiters streamed from the kitchen, each man and woman holding a silver tray. All together they placed the trays before the royal family, lifting the lids to reveal salad, a Savage roast, steamed vegetables, a fruit medly and angelfood cake for desert. Each dish was beautifully prepared and in seconds the king and his daughter had helped themselves. Sylvain had a large salad before her with a small slice of Savage, and a small dish of fruit. She, as usual, had only asked for water to drink. Her father had piled the foods up on his plate a foot high, each dish had its own small heap on his plate and to drink, he asked for a pint of ale. Once again Sylvain's brother ordered a tall glass of Dragonsbane rum and that was it. Apparently, he didn't want to eat again. Something else was on his mind..  
As Sylvain and her father ate happily, carrying a light conversation about their respective days, Tristan IV cleared his throat and turned his piercing golden-amber stare to his father. "Father, I know how comfortable with this topic you are, but I'd like to ask you about your plans for succession to the throne--"  
Tristan III shrugged off the age-old question of power inheritance and stated nonchalantly, "Actually, I was thinking about Sylvain becoming queen after I've passed."  
"But, she's a woman! Are you mad?!"  
"Not at the table, boy. We will discuss this matter--"  
"Choose me, you old coot! You're nearing fifty now and--"  
"-after supper is finished. Until then--"  
"-one of us will have to take your place--"  
"-I need to ask for your--"  
"-And seeing as how I'm male--"  
"SILENCE!!" The king roared as he quickly rose to his feet, his salt-and-pepper hair stood on end, rebelling against the gel used to slick it back as his seemingly-eternal patience crumbled in mere seconds under his son's gaze. Frosty blue eyes closed in resignation before returning to the plate before Tristan III. "We... will discuss this.. at a later hour.." The man growled through clenched teeth and sharp breaths. His son wore a smirk on his face, acknowledging his father's "defeat". The smirking 17-year-old scholar stood, adjusted his red-and-black formal Monk attire and turned to leave, running a hand through his fire-red spiked hair as he stepped away.  
"Later it is then.. Father.." Something about that last word.. It was a double-edged sword dripping thick with malice and it made chills run down Sylvain's spine once it left the lips of her strange brother. She could have sworn she felt her rosary jump in her hand as her brother glanced back and locked his eyes on her, grinned, then disappeared down the hall opposite that which Sylvain entered. In a hushed voice, Sylvain whispered to her father, "I need to be excused, father. Please, pardon me." She placed a hand on the elder Tristan's shoulder and gently guided him back into his seat and noticed him relax a bit before she turned and left, herself- leaving the king alone at the table, angry, confused, and worried.  
She tried to suppress her worry, but Sylvain just could not hide it. The outburst at the dinner table.. It wasn't like her father to get angry over a question like that. Perhaps there was something he knew about that wasn't meant for her ears.. Either way, all she could do for the night was retire. No sense in trying to comfort the king and she certainly wouldn't try to help calm her brother in any way anymore. The lithe priestess slipped out of her formalwear and into a long-sleeved nightgown made of the finest tan silk. After opening the balcony door to let the moon's light illuminate her room, she slipped between the covers and drifted off into a nightmare.

_A sickly laugh echoed through the halls of Prontera castle, the kind of laugh one would expect to hear from an undead being. Sylvain found herself running through the castle, though she knew not whether it was from something or to somewhere. She found herself running into her father's room, felt the corners of her mouth being lifted in a sick smirk as she laid eyes upon the terrified man curled up on the floor at the foot of his vanity. Before she knew it, she'd lunged at the king, plunging a Bazerald deep into his chest. The laugh became a bit louder as the life left Tristan III's eyes. When she stood, she looked into the mirror to find the person staring back at her wasn't herself, but her brother, bloody, with a skeleton's hand- wrapped in a broken rosary- on his shoulder. The laugh never ceased throughout the ordeal, but it intensified once again as she gazed into the reflection's piercing eyes. The room began to shake with an incomprehensible evil force, like an unnatural earthquake, knocking over lamps and bookshelves, and throwing the mirror to the floor, shattering it and waking Sylvain with a start._

She jolted upright, panting and trying to catch her breath, looking around as if not recognizing where she was at. A cold sweat had formed on her brow and she began trembling in fear from the memory of the laughter. The terrified woman hopped out of bed and into a pair of purple loafers, then shuffled out to her balcony. It was still nighttime and dark clouds had rolled in from the west and began pouring their rain onto the lush green fields outside prontera. A clap of thunder somehow relaxed Sylvain, the bright line of lightning which traveled from cloud to cloud became mesmerizing. Slowly, she relaxed; the dream which scared her was only a dream, nothing more, but she couldn't help but wonder what the laughter was in the background and what that skeleton hand was all about. Her answer came as fast as the questions, however, when she turned around to head back to bed. An ear-splitting clap of thunder erupted from the heavens, pulling a scream from young Sylvain. In the bright flash of lightning that illuminated the skies and her entire room, the figure of a skeleton stood before her. from the bones hung layers upon layers of decomposing, tattered black and blue robes. A broken pair of Evil Wings looked sa if they were about to fall off the creature's head. It's hand was extended towards Sylvain, pointing an accusing finger at her. The priestess stifled a scream as her eyes fell onto what was dangling from the fleshless hand; a black, busted-up rosary. Sylvain stumbled backwards at the sight, tears forming in her eyes as she procured her rosary and held it before her. The only response from the robed skeleton was a bone-chilling laugh- the same laugh from her dream- causing Sylvain to fall to her knees in sheer terror, but in another deafening crash of thunder and blinding strike of lightning, it was gone, leaving Sylvain alone in her room to wonder if this, too was but a dream.


End file.
